“Are you sure about this?” Timothee’s gaze bore into mine, etched with concern. Since the conclusion of our crucial meeting, he had been restless—pacing, fidgeting, a tempest of unease.
“It’s a bit like dancing with the devil, my dear,” he toned, my voice a whisper in the room’s charged air. “And you know that island is steeped in mysteries as thick as the jungle foliage.”
“For the greater good of our shifter kin, I believe a stitch in time saves nine. A brief sojourn to that island is a small price to pay compared to the cost of more lives,” I said, folding my arms across my chest in resolute determination.
“And what of Sawyer and Asher?” Timothee inquired, his eyebrows arching with the weight of unspoken concerns.
“We can leave it with mom here, Timmy. What are you afraid of?” I ask
